The Long Road Home
by The Magical Mage
Summary: Years have past since Kirkwall and Anders has never stopped running. When word of the Hero of Ferelden had started her calling, he turned back with renewed purpose, and to give what was left his life to the woman he owed everything too.


_**Authors Note: Hello to all of you wonderful readers, this is my very first Fan Fiction on this wonderful site. I have been a writer for quiet some time, but felt it time to put my feelers out there, and see what the wonderful people of Fan Fic work thought of my work. This was first a starter I wrote for a Dragon Age Para RP, and I loved the starter so much, I thought I would make some changes and turn it into a Fan Fiction. So please I would love to hear the readers thoughts. I am not sure how long this story will be, but I am willing to take it all the way. So enjoy. I look forward to hearing from you.**_

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**Many years had past since the incident in Kirkwall, and he had all but lost count as the days had begun to meld into one another, and the years became echo's of the past. Running had always been second nature to him. First he ran from the Circle, the Templars then the Wardern's, and now all of Thedas would be very pleased to see his head stuck on a pike, to be displayed in front of every Chantry from Ferleden to the Teventar. They might even carry it from city to city, like some status symbol, so all can cheer and spit on the murderous mage who killed all of the innocent people, and Grand Cleric Elthena. Those who died that day weren't all innocent. No. What he did although it was murder in the eyes of so many, it had been the ultimate act of a desperate man, and yet he had been able to accomplish what he had set out to do. The mages have rebelled and the circles have been falling one at a time. They had found a way to cure the Tranquil, and still even that thought could not lift his spirits. Running was wearing him thin, both physically and mentally.**

At first he thought Hawke had done him a kindness by letting him live, and now he knew it was her way of making him suffer. She had always had a warped sense of right and wrong. Anders knew she did not want to make a Martyr out of him, and his death would have done just that. What he first thought was her own deranged sense of mercy towards him. He realized now she had done it so he could suffer a slower more painful death alone, but he was never alone in his thoughts. Although Justice was gone, and there was nothing but Vengeance and his own guilt that ate at what was left of his soul, twisting his thoughts into a living nightmare. He deserved no less, and he knew it was Vengeance that brought the nightmares revenge for all of those deaths that the demon himself had pushed him to do. He had tried to kill himself, many, many times to end his pain. It had become too much to bare and every time the Demon stopped him, taking over his body before he could do himself harm. No. This would never stop he was doomed to run and forced to survive at least until...

His mind drifted to her as he stood near the bow of a great ship, the wind blustered around him, the sharp smell of the sea had become familiar to him now. Word had reached him even all the way from the Andersfel's. He had went home to die there, to see if there was any of his blood family was left alive. Anders hadn't even gotten a chance to find out any information of his family, when he had overheard the gossip at the Tavern.

Anders sat quietly and sipped his ale in the darkest corner he could find in the loud crowded place. Dark thoughts had taken over his mind again, and Vengeance plagued him with visions of the mage burning the place to the ground. Unable to stop watching the horror as everyone around him died screaming. It wasn't real, he knew that. It had taken him a long time to tell the difference, but it was still a horrible site and he could smell the burning flesh and his senses place tricks upon him. Choking down a large mouthful of ale, Anders could feel more than see that the place was mostly filled with Grey Warden's; about a dozen or so. His blood humed and itched in his veins, and hated the feeling. Still he had expected as much being so close to Weisshaupt that he was bound to run into the Wardens, and strangely it was the safest place he could ever be right now. A renegade Warden hidden among others of his kind, hidden amongst the hum of the taint. He leaned back into his chair and listened to the chatter, most boosting their conquests, whether it be in battle or in bed, in the end the Wardens were like any other hot blooded fighters, but what he didn't expect was what he had overheard from table next to his own.

The nightmares had come to the Hero of Ferelden, her calling had begun. His heart sank at thought of her down in the Deeproads alone, one final battle till death and he felt so helpless. Anders had thought maybe someday, somehow he might get a chance to see her again. To begged her forgiveness for everything he had done. He knew she had hated him for what he had done, how could she not for what he had done. Yet there was a time when she did not hate him. She loved him, she had said as much. Did he love her?

In his own way yes, he could never have said it before. He owed that woman everything, and he could not leave her to go through this alone. Leaving the rest of his drink untouched he slipped out of the Tavern without another word, the search for his lost family forgotten, and headed back towards the docks to jump the next ship to Ferelden.

Since that night at that night in the Tavern, Vengeance had fallen completely silent. Anders was unsure if this was a blessing or something more ominous, he could still feel the Demon twisted and corrupt in his mind, and he wondered if maybe a hint of Justice still lingered with the beast. Justice had always respected the Commander, and cared for her deeply, perhaps that was enough to calm the Demon within, to do what he planned. He would not let her go it alone down there, he would go back and he would go into the the Deeproads with her and he will take his calling, whether she liked it or not. He owed her that much.

Anders had fished around for information about her in some of the ports they had landed in, for all he knew she could be anywhere. In the end he found out she was still there, where he left her. Still the hero of the land she loved, he wished he could have said the same. He hated Ferelden, always smelled of wet dog, and was his first prison, he tried so hard to escape from.

When the ship had docked in Amaranthine it had felt like he had never left. He had been there when the city had almost fallen to the Darkspawn, the memory left a bad taste in his mouth.

After a short time asking about and avoiding anyone who may recognize him from all those years before, he had learned that the Commander of the Grey was still at the Keep, but none had seen her in months. Word was that her health was not what it once was, and she was bed ridden. The mage figured it was what the Wardens told the people of the city. The calling wasn't something that they would want to get out, bad for recruitment and all of that. Failing health would be a good reason for the commanders sudden disappearance, it had been three months since he had heard the news. It wouldn't be long now he thought to himself, and shuddered.

Not wanting to walk Anders stopped at a small stable just outside the city, and bought the cheapest mount he could afford. Anders was never fond of riding, but would much rather ride there on a slow mount than take the day and a half to walk. Thanking the old man he mounted the ragged old mare, stoking her neck, the old horse nickered softly and began a slow ride towards the Keep, and the woman whose heart he broke, those many years ago. He smiled to himself and wondered if she would even let him live to see the next morning, what ever happened he was putting what was left of his life in her hands.


End file.
